


Secrets

by Skywalker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: All The Tags You Should Associate With Voldemort Porn Really, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dead Basilisk Do Not Eat, Foot Jobs, Gratuitous Porn With Peak Hotness Tom Riddle, Happy Ending, Library Sex, M/M, Mental Link, Mind Control, Murder, Non-Consensual, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape, Sex At A Murder Scene, Snape Kills Dumbledore, Swords, Torture, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-02 11:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20728670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skywalker/pseuds/Skywalker
Summary: The locket in the basin is a real Horcrux; after overhearing Harry’s plan to destroy Horcruxes at Dumbledore’s funeral, locket Riddle drags Harry down to the Chamber of Secrets for some regeneration by sex magic.  Harry won’t go down without a fight, in more ways than one.





	1. i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter one: in which harry gets screwed

“Then I’ve got to track down the rest of the Horcruxes, haven’t I?” said Harry, his eyes upon Dumbledore’s white tomb, reflected in the water on the other side of the lake. “That’s what he wanted me to do, that’s why he told me all about them. If Dumbledore was right — and I’m sure he was — there are still three of them out there. I’ve got to find them and destroy them, and then I’ve got to go after the seventh bit of Voldemort’s soul, the bit that’s still in his body, and I’m the one who’s going to kill him. And if I meet Severus Snape along the way,” he added, “so much the better for me, so much the worse for him.” There was a long silence –

The locket half-beat, half-ticked against Harry’s chest, in sync with Harry’s own heart. Glancing around to make sure that none of the dispersing crowd was paying attention to them, Harry pulled the locket from under his robes, frowning. Ron and Hermione barely noticed; Harry had taken to doing this so often over the previous days, fixated on the thing that had lured Dumbledore to his death, that the gesture was not remotely unusual.

But this sense of movement, of life, was new, and when the sunlight hit the locket the carved letter S shifted like a living thing. Harry’s mind drifted back four years, to another trace of Slytherin’s, and in that moment, he knew exactly how to open it.

“I’ll be back before the train leaves,” he said glibly, already starting to tear away from Ron and Hermione back up toward the castle, his hand still clenched around the locket. “Just thought of something. Cover for me.”

Their shouts of protest followed him up the grounds, but he ignored them, skidding into the entrance hall and darting for the first open classroom. He uncurled his fingers and stared at the scrap of jewelry in his palm, the ugly thing he had fixated all his determination and horror on in these last long days, and whispered, “_Open._”

The locket obeyed with a click. For a moment, Harry saw a dark, handsome eye behind a pane of glass –

And then everything went black.

*

There was stone at his back and cords around his wrists. The tactile similarity to the graveyard in Little Hangleton was so horrifying, so overwhelming that his eyes shot open without conscious thought, and he lurched forward against his bonds.

But Little Hangleton was the wrong end-of-term nightmare.

He was at the far end of a long and dimly lit chamber, suffused with green, eerie light. Pillars twined with serpents stretched up and into an impenetrable ceiling, and Harry knew that if he craned his neck upward he would see a statute as tall as the chamber itself, with an ancient, wizened face. And leaning against the nearest pillar, blurred around the edges….

“Hello, Harry Potter,” said Tom Riddle. Harry snarled and yanked harder against the cords, but they held as fast as ever. Riddle flashed him a thin, sharp smile. “Welcome to the Chamber of Secrets.”

“You f– ” Harry began, and then stopped. Not because he’d been about to let loose with the kind of profanity that would make Mrs. Weasley blush, but because it was such a strangely idiotic thing for Riddle to say. Harry had been here four years ago, with Ginny. Riddle knew it, had been there with them. But – Harry blinked, squinted – that had been Riddle the schoolboy, Slytherin smug in Slytherin robes. This Riddle was taller, leaner, wearing a plain but well-cut suit, and not quite as solid as the previous Riddle. The locket, dislodged in Harry’s struggle, thumped against Harry’s chest, and a memory swam to the front of his mind: Riddle kissing Hepzibah Smith’s hand, Riddle’s eyes flaring red as he held a relic of Salazar Slytherin…. and Harry was quite certain that this was not the Riddle of the diary horcrux, but the Riddle of the locket horcrux. “What?”

Riddle’s dark eyes narrowed for a moment with a there-and-gone-again flash of irritation. “The Chamber of Secrets, inescapable – ” Harry swallowed a bark of laughter “— stronghold of Salazar Slytherin.”

Harry opened his mouth to say that yes, he’d realized, and shut it abruptly. Locket Riddle was explaining the Chamber of Secrets. Locket Riddle was explaining the Chamber of Secrets _like Harry had never been here before_. Harry was tied up and presumably wandless, and Fawkes had left Hogwarts forever … but Riddle was operating on outdated information, and Harry had made narrow escapes from Voldemort before, and Dumbledore had just spent a year teaching Harry what made Voldemort tick.

Harry just needed a way to put those things to use.

“I’ve heard of it, yeah.” He didn’t bother to hide the anger in his voice as he glared at Riddle; anyone would be angry about being tied to a statute in a gloomy hall. He tried to think about what Professor Binns told them about the Chamber, and the information he’d have if he hadn’t killed a basilisk down here to save Ginny. “And you’re going to – what, feed me to the monster within?”

Riddle stepped lightly down from the base of the pillar to stride closer to Harry. “_Slytherin’s_ monster is unavailable.” Despite the odd emphasis, his smug mask slipped again, just for a moment, and his eyes flickered to one side. Harry followed them to the spot where he’d left the basilisk’s corpse, and felt a surge of triumph before realizing that the great serpent’s body was _gone_ – and so, apparently, was any chance of repeating his trick of stabbing a horcrux with a basilisk fang. Riddle’s smart shoes clacked softly but echoingly as he stepped closer to Harry, eyes raking him from head to toe. “But I’m still here.” He placed a long, pale finger directly over the spot where the locket sat under Harry’s robes, drew it up the curve of Harry’s throat, and ran it over Harry’s lower lip. “So, in a way, you’re right.” Harry craned his neck forward to bite, and Riddle withdrew his hand with an arch of a dark brow.

“What’s that mean?” Harry growled. It was a genuine question. In the first place, there wasn’t a reason for the locket Riddle to bring him down here – as far as Harry knew, this Riddle hadn’t had the opportunity to learn that Harry had defeated Voldemort sixteen years before. Had the locket been listening out on the grounds, when Harry told Ron and Hermione that he would leave Hogwarts to hunt horcruxes? That might give the locket a reason to kill Harry outright, but dragging him down to the chamber didn’t make any sense. Did the locket want to use Harry to bring itself to life? The diary had been able to revive itself using Ginny’s life, but Ginny had spent months confiding in the diary, and Harry had only kept the locket close for a few days, and he certainly wasn’t going to let it have any more of his life force now.

Riddle tugged the chain at Harry’s neck, drawing the locket out from Harry’s robes and holding it between them. “You’re hunting something,” he said softly. “Something that belongs to me.” Damn. He had given it all away on the grounds – the hunt, Voldemort, Dumbledore’s involvement, _I’m the one who’s going to kill him. _He knew the diary had some self-awareness, why hadn’t he been circumspect around the bloody horcrux? The sense of horror must have shown on his face, because Riddle almost beamed, drinking in his unease with obvious glee. “You know who I am, don’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, and Harry couldn’t see an advantage in denying it. He nodded stiffly. Riddle’s smile widened, showing teeth.

“And you think _you _can kill my maker?” Riddle was gloatingly incredulous – even more so, Harry thought, with the luxury of comparing them, then the diary had been. But again, the locket Riddle hadn’t been around long enough to know about the prophecy, or that the wizarding world credited Harry with defeating Voldemort as a child, or that Harry had escaped him repeatedly over the last five years. Harry would keep that up his sleeve as long as he could. The trick would be the Legilimency, but Riddle wouldn’t probe too hard if Harry’s answer was both truthful and something Voldemort expected to hear.

“Voldemort killed my parents,” he snarled, stretching his neck again as though trying to snap Riddle’s jaw off. Riddle, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “_You_ killed my parents.”

“So Albus Dumbledore sent you on a suicide mission.” Riddle’s dark eyes sparkled with malice in the dim green glow of the chamber. “A child, against the greatest wizard the world has ever known.” It should have been blood-curdling, but it was too similar to all of Voldemort’s prior boasting. _Let’s match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give him. _Harry didn’t flinch, but his hands clenched into fists, the backs of his hands scraping against what he supposed were Salazar Slytherin’s toes. Riddle drew Harry closer by the golden chain with one hand and cradled a pulse-point in Harry’s neck with the other. “I’d thank him for the gift, if he hadn’t gotten himself killed.”

The cold, still-blurry fingers were ice cold against Harry’s throat. He knew what Riddle intended, because he had watched the diary drain Ginny’s life, right here at Salazar Slytherin’s feet. It meant that he wouldn’t die immediately – but that he would die, and unleash another Riddle on the world right when Dumbledore was on longer there to protect it. “I won’t let you.”

Riddle nodded almost absentmindedly, eyes fixed on Harry’s throat. “It would be easier to drain your life if you were cooperative, or if we had more time to bond. But….” He leaned forward, placing his lips against the pulsepoint this time. Harry tried to jerk away, but the cords tightened harder against his limbs, and Riddle’s hands cupped his chin, tugging Harry’s neck long and exposed. His lips and hands should have been not-quite-there, but they were so damn strong, and Riddle’s breath tickled the little hairs on Harry’s neck. “There are other ways of transferring magic, Harry Potter,” Riddle murmured. Harry shivered and felt rather than saw as Riddle’s lips pressed into a smile against his skin.

“I said,” Harry gritted, his skin prickling at the sheer wrongness of Riddle’s closeness, “I won’t let you.”

Riddle’s lips quirked into another smile; it lingered even after he pulled away from Harry, self-assured and predatory. “I don’t plan on giving you a choice.” He settled himself languidly on the lip of the statue’s other sandal, one hand pulling out Harry’s wand and his free arm draping over the stone foot as though it were a couch or a throne. With a flick of the wand, the ropes slipped from Harry’s limbs. Even caught off guard, Harry immediately crouched to dive away from the next spell, but Riddle was too quick. “_Imperio._”

The steady ache of having been tied up, even the anger and anxiety of being trapped in the Chamber of Secrets again, slid blissfully away.

_Come here._

That wasn’t so strange, was it? He was vaguely aware of his own feet crossing the stone floor toward Riddle. He could grab his wand if he were closer to Riddle.

_Kneel. _

No, he thought firmly, we’ve been over this before. I’m not kneeling to you, you absolute d—.

_Kneel and suck it. _

“What the _hell_?” Harry shouted. He was halfway to kneeling between Riddle’s spread legs, which left no question about what _it _was meant to be. Rattled and repulsed as he was, he made a grab for the wand, but Riddle cast a shield charm that sent Harry bouncing back to the floor of the chamber.

“I told you,” said Riddle, tapping the wand against his thigh with open irritation this time, “that there are other ways of transferring magic.”

Harry spat on the ground. “You’re sick,” he managed. “Sicker than – usual.

“I’m practical.” He was trying to keep his voice level, but the irritation was there – and surprise that Harry had cast off the Imperius Curse. “You’re going to suck my cock.” There was something odd about clean-cut, aristocratic Riddle saying the word _cock_ in that businesslike way, totally without emphasis, that caught Harry by surprise, even above and beyond the horrifying intention. “You’re going to take some of my magic.” His eyes glanced to the locket, and Harry heard, echoing around his mind, _to start pouring a little of my soul back into her_. Harry gagged. “And I am going to take everything from you.”

He waved the wand in a tight circle, and the cords bound Harry again – not to the statute this time, but in an ungainly pile between Riddle’s legs. Harry’s arms were wrapped tight between his back, and then somehow to his bound legs, so that his only range of movement was a slight squirm of his head and torso.

Riddle pursed his lips thoughtfully. His expression had changed slightly for the darker, hungrier. His dark eyes weren’t focusing on Harry’s mouth, but on the ropes cutting into Harry’s skin, the way Harry’s legs had to strain to keep himself upright. But that was no surprise. Voldemort lived to control, to dominate, to inflict pain, to exalt himself above others. Harry lifted his head a little higher, refusing to give him the satisfaction of thinking that Harry was particularly cowed. Riddle matched the tiny gesture of defiance with another small smile. “Very brave, Potter. But you know what the book says – ‘pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.’”

Harry opened his mouth to point out what a colossally stupid criticism this was coming from someone who just called himself the greatest wizard in the world, but Riddle rapped the wand smartly across Harry’s head, and Harry felt a sudden chill, as though a Dementor had entered the chamber. He actually glanced around for a moment before looking down at himself.

He was naked save for the cords and the locket, pale and scrawny and small against the darkness of the chamber. His resolve not to give Riddle any additional satisfaction couldn’t keep a flush from spreading hot and red over his cheeks, or stop his skin from breaking out in gooseflesh.

And Riddle did look delighted, his dark eyes glinting red even in the dim green light. “I think that reflects our relative circumstances rather more accurately,” he said, his free hand unfastening his suit trousers and pushing aside his underthings. He was stiffening before he even pulled his cock free, which Harry, reflecting on sixteen years’ experience with Voldemort, expected had more to do with Harry being markedly vulnerable than Harry’s actual nudity. Riddle gave himself a few unhurried pumps; Harry was inches away and considered closing his eyes, turning away, but that would be showing discomfort. He didn’t expect that he’d get many opportunities to deny Riddle satisfaction – he would take them where he could get them.

Riddle’s thumb left his cock to rest on Harry’s lip again. Harry considered whether to try biting again, or whether to save that for Riddle’s –

“_Crucio._”

Harry screamed, the familiar wave of blinding pain so all-encompassing that he barely noticed the hand fisting in his hair or something slipping between his parted lips. But the curse lifted a moment later, and Harry was hit with the full force of having Riddle slamming Harry’s head onto his cock. Harry tried to wrench away, but Riddle’s too-solid hand was in his hair, and the ropes around his body didn’t give him enough leverage to resist.

“That was a warning,” said Riddle lightly, pulling Harry’s head roughly up, down, up, down. “No biting, no teeth.” Harry, with the part of his mind that wasn’t screaming internally or attempting not to choke, noted that this briefest of Cruciatus Curses really was a warning, Voldemort’s equivalent of a slap on the cheek. Harry winced as a particularly forceful shove of Riddle’s dragged Harry forward, Harry’s bare knees scraping against the stone of the chamber floor. Riddle gave a small _tsk_. “This could have been so easy if you hadn’t fought the Imperius Curse,” he murmured. His voice had the faux-solicitousness he’d used with old Hepzibah Smith, but there was an oddly breathy edge to it too that Harry had never heard from Riddle or Voldemort. Harry couldn’t crane his neck to look up at Riddle, even if his glasses weren’t slipping down his nose with every thrust, but he knew that those eyes would be redder than ever. Riddle would enjoy Harry hating every second of this more than he would enjoy Harry blowing him in a haze.

The problem was that Harry was starting to enjoy it, too.

It was some small comfort to know that it wasn’t his feeling, not originally. His stomach was sick and his jaw was already sore and his knees were starting to bleed from being dragged back and across the flagstones. And the sensation started in the part of himself that Harry associated with Voldemort’s thoughts and emotions – whether it was because Riddle was one of Voldemort’s horcruxes or because the horcrux had been feeding on Harry’s emotions, Harry didn’t know. And at that moment, _why _was the least pressing problem. But Riddle’s own sick arousal was manifesting as an aching heat in Harry’s groin, and even without contact Harry was starting to get hard.

_I won’t_, he thought, as though he were fighting the Imperius Curse again, but it would have been easier to fight the Imperius Curse. He tried to think of anything but what was happening to him, like trying to ignore Aunt Marge, but the thought of _grasp your broom firmly by the tail _disastrously became a thought of hands grasping him firmly by the dick, and he moaned, just a little, around Riddle’s cock.

Riddle paused, pulling Harry’s mouth off of him and yanking Harry’s head back to get a look at him. His red eyes wandered from Harry’s bruising lips to his heaving chest to his stiffening cock. Riddle laughed, high and cold and nightmarish enough that Harry thought he might lose the erection after all.

But the leather upper of Riddle’s shoe traced up the underside of Harry’s dick, and Harry groaned, bucking into the contact without meaning to. He hated the pulse of pleasure, he hated himself, he hated Riddle –

“_Who’s_ sick, Potter?” Riddle smirked. His foot pressed down, grinding the sole lightly against Harry. Harry bit his lip. He would avoid answering, if nothing else. But Riddle’s sense of delight in Harry’s humiliation was reinforcing Harry’s own arousal from being touched; he was hardening under Riddle’s increased, impersonal pressure, and it was difficult to swallow the groans building in his throat.

The ropes around Harry’s legs loosened, reforming as Riddle dragged Harry forward and down, so that Harry’s dick was flush against the leather of Riddle’s shoe. Riddle dragged Harry’s mouth onto his cock again, the movement grinding Harry up against smooth leather. Harry moaned around Riddle again, and Riddle gasped, his fingers clenching tighter than ever into Harry’s hair.

_I’m the one who’s going to kill him_, Harry thought. This thought didn't stray into anything else, though it also didn't stop him from feeling Riddle’s cock against the back of his mouth, or distract him from the fact that he was grinding against Riddle’s shoe without being forced. _I’m the one who’s going to kill him. I’m the one who’s going to kill him. _

The friction and the part of his mind reeling with Riddle’s deranged arousal won out sooner than later, and Harry came harder than he ever had alone. Maybe was seeing Harry so debauched, or maybe the link worked both ways, or maybe Riddle had been almost here anyway, but Riddle came a moment later, slamming Harry down his cock with a hiss of satisfaction. He kept Harry pressed there until he was finished completely, until Harry’s mouth was filled with salt. When he finally withdrew, his fingers clamped around Harry’s chin like a vice, keeping Harry’s jaw clenched and turning his face up.

“Swallow, Potter.” His voice is light again; they might as well be in Hepzibah’s sitting room. Harry has never wanted to spit in anyone’s face more in his life, but he can’t break Riddle’s grip on his chin.

_I’m the one who’s going to kill him. _

He obeyed.

Riddle leaned back, satisfied. Without Riddle holding him in place, Harry slumped awkwardly to the floor of the chamber at Riddle’s feet, at Slytherin’s feet.

“I told you it would be easier if you were cooperative,” drawled Riddle, vanishing all remaining mess. “This way takes an entire moon cycle.” He reached to close his trousers again, then paused, deliberately, glancing at Harry. “We have twenty-seven days, Potter. If you behave, I may even be…. relatively generous.”

Twenty-seven days until Riddle drained Harry’s life for good.

_I’m the one who’s going to kill him. _

He needed his wand or, if Riddle wasn’t going to drop his guard, to find another weapon. If the basilisk and its fangs weren’t in the chamber, then he needed a weapon something from the castle. And it dawned on him that it wasn’t impossible to _get _back to the castle. He knew Voldemort and he knew Riddle, probably better than anyone else now that Dumbledore was dead. If there was a way to channel that burning to dominate, to inflict pain, to mark, to claim…. And he could use the connection, as mortifying as it was….

Harry finally spat at him. It missed.

Riddle shrugged. “Or not.” He raised Harry’s wand again. “_Crucio._”

_I’m the one who’s going to kill him. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, buckaroos, Harry’s going to be the master of archive warning bingo.


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter two: in which harry remembers that there is a dope sword several stories above him

The next day – night? – was not a marked improvement. Harry spent it naked and trussed up at Slytherin’s feet, alternately sleeping fitfully, listening to Riddle’s footsteps as he re-acquainted himself with the Chamber, worrying about how his absence would be taken by his friends and the Order, and trying to put all the pieces Dumbledore had left him into a workable plan to kill Riddle. But his thoughts were so circular, never making the jump from idea to actionable plan ....

It was almost a relief when Riddle kicked Harry roughly onto his back, pain and anger interrupting his sluggish, round-about train of thought. He squared his shoulders as much as the ropes permitted, clenched his jaw, and glared up at Riddle with a much self-possession as he could manage while naked and tied up. It wasn’t much. 

“Up, Potter,” Riddle smiled, yanking Harry back to his knees with a flick of the wand. Harry barely swallowed a yelp as his scraped knees made contact with the stone floor again. Riddle’s gaze shifted to Harry’s re-opening wounds as he settled himself back on the lip of Salazar’s sandals, keen and hungry. He ground the heel of his boot over one of the cuts, and Harry swayed with the sharp pain, overbalancing in the ropes and slamming awkwardly into one of Riddle’s spread thighs. 

_Just get it over with._

But Riddle was less businesslike, this time. Slowly, carefully, he traced Harry’s bruised lips with the wandtip. Harry expected the Cruciatus Curse at any moment, but Riddle only traced idle patterns around Harry’s mouth, down his jaw, along the curve of the golden chain. _Lower and lower and...._

Harry wasn’t sure whether the first flicker came from himself or Riddle this time, but the idea of Riddle lightly tracing the wand through Harry’s curls and along his dick was mortifyingly good. He arched upward, just a little, and Riddle paused. 

“So much for that bravado.” Riddle’s voice was soft and smug. He lifted the wand from Harry’s skin; Harry kept silent with a force of will but couldn’t stop a small shiver. Riddle rested the hand in Harry’s hair instead – not dragging Harry by it, but running his fingers through it idly. Harry was reminded irrepressibly of Voldemort with Nagini. “‘I won’t let you,’ ‘you killed my parents.’” He did a worse impression of Harry than the diary had of Ginny. If nothing else, it put a significant damper on Harry’s stirrings of arousal. 

Harry glared up at Riddle. “I _won’t_ let you,” he said, equally quiet, firm as he could manage. His voice trembled very slightly around the edges, but he was comfortably confident that it was almost all anger. “There’s still twenty-seven days, remember? You haven’t won yet.” 

Riddle’s smug smile didn’t fade, but his hand tightened in Harry’s hair, just a little. “It’s only a matter of time. You have nothing.” 

Nothing, not even a songbird and an old hat. But the diary had been dismissive of the songbird and the hat, and Harry had destroyed the diary with them. Well, not them precisely, but with the songbird and the sword –

Harry’s breath hitched at the thought of the sword, _the sword that Riddle did not know about,_ right at the moment that Riddle’s thumb slipped into his mouth. He glanced up in distracted surprise. Riddle’s cheeks were oddly, faintly flushed. 

“You have nothing, and you’re not even resisting.” 

_Damn._ Riddle thought Harry had been reacting to _him_. He almost wrenched back as much as the ropes would allow – but stopped. 

Voldemort underestimated things he did not understand, and those things had a habit of defeating him. 

He bit down on Riddle’s thumb and got another round of the Cruciatus Curse for his trouble; it left him squirming and then panting between Riddle’s thighs. When he could focus again, his cheek was pressed against the tenting fabric of Riddle’s fly. 

“I warned you.” Riddle began stroking stroking Harry’s hair again; Harry could feel Riddle stiffening as Harry’s laboring, post-Cruciatus breaths blew hot and damp across the fabric of Riddle’s trousers. “But I also made you an offer, Potter. Do you remember?”

“_Relatively,_” he spat the word with as much venom as he could muster, “generous.” 

“That’s right.” Riddle’s fingers dipped under Harry’s chin, forcing him up so that their eyes met. The flush was stronger now. “I’m going to give you another chance to behave. Any wrong moves–” he tapped Harry’s mouth with the wand tip “–and I’ll fuck you through the Cruciatus Curse. I have to admit, I haven’t tried that before. I don’t know whether you’ll go mad before I finish. Understand?” 

_I’m the one who’s going to kill him._

Harry gritted his teeth and nodded. 

The ropes on his arms vanished, though the ones on his legs remained. Harry fell awkwardly to one side as feeling prickled into his stiff limbs, but Riddle had him upright a moment later, mouth level with his crotch. 

“Then, Potter,” Riddle breathed, his soft voice throaty, “begin.” 

There was a moment where Harry thought he might take the Cruciatus Curse instead. It would hurt, but he had taken the curse before, and he wouldn’t have to _do_ anything in that world. But being tortured into insanity wasn’t consistent with destroying horcruxes, or killing Voldemort.

He raised his hands, woodenly, and undid the fastenings of Riddle’s pants, fingers fumbling partly on the old-fashioned notions and partially from the lingering effects of the Cruciatus Curse and partially because he did not _want_ this. He pulled Riddle’s half-hard cock out, and paused, unsure what the next step would be even with someone who _wasn’t_ a piece of Voldemort’s soul. 

“Keep going,” Riddle ordered. His hand was in Harry’s hair again, but in a loose, lazily possessive way, not slamming Harry forward. 

Harry’s fingers settled lightly on Riddle – no, that wouldn’t work. When he was alone in his four-poster, he needed more contact. He curled his hand around Riddle’s cock. _Just pretend it’s yours, or anyone else’s, or something._ Long, steady strokes; Riddle shifted back contentedly, his fingers carding through Harry’s wild hair. The bit of Harry’s mind that was not his own stirred again. 

“Tighter.” Demanding ass. “All the way to the tip.” Harry wasn’t sure if Riddle was getting hard more from the contact or from the thrill of giving Harry commands; Harry’s fingers were smearing pre-cum all over Riddle’s shaft now. “And your mouth, Potter.”

That one gave Harry pause. Riddle had already fucked his mouth once, and yet… it was more difficult, somehow, to force himself to lean forward than to be forced, and Riddle’s hand on his head was still light, expectant. 

_I’m the one who’s going to kill him. And I’m the one who’s going to run your horcrux through with the Sword of Gryffindor._

He licked the tip tentatively, the way he imagined Ginny or Cho might in the depths of his imagination that not even Snape’s Legilimancy had seen. Riddle made a derisive noise – “I said _mouth_” – but his smug arousal flared sharp in the back of Harry’s mind. 

Something about Riddle’s delight and derision both set off the stupid, reckless part of Harry, the part of him that had gotten _I must not tell lies_ carved into the back of his hand. “I’m getting there,” he growled.

Riddle raised the wand, and Harry expected another dose of the Cruciatus Curse, but the remark must not have been rebellious enough to merit it. There was a sudden, sharp pain across Harry’s back instead, like a dragon’s claws raking over his skin, or like a whip. Harry flinched back, snarled with pain. 

“Then be quick about it.” 

Harry leaned in again, one hand on the inside of Riddle’s thigh for balance, the other around the base of Riddle’s cock. He pressed his lips to the head; Riddle was completely still, but the locket was beating loud, loud, loud where sweat stuck it to Harry’s skin. Harry inhaled, and swallowed. Riddle relaxed around him, self-satisfied in flesh and at the back of Harry’s mind. 

He forced himself to move, sliding up and down Riddle not quite at the punishing pace Riddle had set yesterday, but quick enough that Riddle hissed quietly every time Harry got him to the back of his throat. The damned connection – it had to be the connection, right? – oozed down his spine, pooled in his gut. Harry’s cock twitched. Riddle groaned. 

“Touch yourself.” Harry glanced up; Riddle’s voice was still hoarse, but his eyes were fixed on Harry’s free hand, the one resting on Riddle’s leg. Harry paused, trying to make the split-second decision. There was something… categorically different about actively touching himself. He’d come on Riddle’s shoe yesterday, but it had been all Riddle’s actions. He was sucking Riddle off now, but he wasn’t enjoying it any more than the link and his body’s natural reactions required. He didn’t want to get any enjoyment out of this – and, at least as important, didn’t want Riddle to _enjoy_ him not wanting to enjoy it. 

Was it worth another round of the Cruciatus Curse to refuse? 

He made the decision with his dick. 

His fingers curled around himself, arrhythmically at first, and then in time with his mouth on Riddle’s cock. The lines between Riddle’s pleasure and his own blurred around the edges, Riddle’s venom and his own blurred around the edges, mutual lust and loathing chasing each other around and around, up and down, hot and heady and –. 

Riddle came first this time; his hand tightened in Harry’s hair, and he held Harry firmly in place again. The flare in the link pushed Harry over the edge as well, he came hard on the worn stone as Riddle’s cum poured down his throat, some dribbling down his chin. 

“Swallow,” Riddle reminded, withdrawing. The wand raised in an unspoken threat. 

_And I’m the one who’s going to run your horcrux through with the Sword of Gryffindor._

Harry swallowed. Riddle ran a thumb over the trace of his own cum on Harry’s chin, brushing it up and between Harry’s lips, into Harry’s mouth. 

_And I’m the one who’s going to run your horcrux through with the Sword of Gryffindor._

Harry didn’t bite. 

Riddle smiled, almost indulgently. “Maybe it is better this way,” he said lazily, stretching and stepping back and vanishing the remaining mess once again. “Slower, but… you really can’t complain about an extra month of life, Potter.” He paused, frowned, took a few more steps away, and raised the wand again. 

Harry, expecting another Cruciatus Curse, was surprised to see his clothes, a sleeping roll, and a few tin cans that might have come from the Hogwarts kitchens next to him. The cords binding him rearranged themselves as well, leaving one loop around his ankle and another around Slytherin’s. 

“What’s this for?” Harry asked, mistrustfully, glancing at the conjured materials as he tugged at the cord. There wasn’t much slack, but if he stretched ....

Riddle looked at him as though he were an idiot, which Harry supposed was an attitude he should cultivate. “I need you alive for the rest of the month, Potter. I’ll be very disappointed in you if you die of chill or starvation before we’re finished.” 

“You and me both,” muttered Harry, keeping his eyes deliberately on the food and clothes, but shifting slightly to push off –.

He lunged at Riddle, at the wand, but came up just short. Riddle didn’t even need to move back again; Harry landed sprawled and ungainly at Riddle’s feet.

Riddle bent, lifting Harry’s face to his. The indulgence was gone, the hunger was back. “I thought you were smarter than that, Potter. But no matter.” Harry knew what was coming before Riddle said the word. “_Crucio._” 

_And I’m the one who’s going to run your horcrux through with the Sword of Gryffindor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be longer than I thought (though not twenty-eight chapters).
> 
> I was going to have Riddle stick the wand in Harry’s mouth but then I remembered that it had been up a troll’s nose and somehow this is a line I will not cross.


	3. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which dumbledore being dead gets riddle super horny, idk what you want me to say, that's been canon since cursed child

Somehow, Harry managed to sleep. He wasn’t surprised to wake up alive – Riddle had made it perfectly, mockingly clear that he was keeping Harry alive for a month – but he was surprised to find Riddle gone when he woke up. 

Harry set to work attempting to undo the cords holding him in place, trying to wear them down against the rougher patches of stone, to loosen the knots, even to gnaw at the rope, but Riddle knew his work. The only progress Harry made was climbing up the cord to sit on top of Slytherin’s foot, which was marginally less demeaning than sitting _at_ Slytherin’s feet. That was fine. Harry would take “marginally” at this point. 

He had just moved on to removing the locket when Riddle returned. 

“Don’t.” Harry jumped. If Hermione hadn’t spent four years beating it into his head that people couldn’t apparate on the Hogwarts grounds, he would have assumed Riddle appeared out of thin air on the floor at the statute’s base. He raised Harry’s wand, and an invisible hand knocked Harry from his comparatively lofty position, sending him spilling in a pile at Riddle’s feet. Riddle leaned and tugged at the locket, pulling Harry with it as well. “We’re going to stay very close for the next month.” 

Harry pushed himself to his feet, shoving his glasses back on. “Where were you?” 

“Reacquainting myself with the castle.” Riddle’s eyes flicked upward, and there was the usual proprietary look there, but also something longing. 

Hogwarts had been Riddle’s first real home, too. It had been dear. It was dear. 

And the sword was there. 

“It’s almost empty.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I thought you were listening, out on the grounds. They sent the students home. It’s summer.” 

Riddle cocked his head thoughtfully. “I have seen Hogwarts in the summer. This is quieter.” Harry froze; the heads had agreed to keep the school open, hadn’t they? “They are saying, as they put out the fires, that _Dumbledore’s death_,” Riddle dragged out the words lasciviously, “was bad enough, but for a boy to go missing so soon after....” Riddle tapped Harry on the chest, on the locket. 

Harry’s fists clenched, anger building in his gut. “You’re happy about hurting _Hogwarts_?” Hurting Harry, killing Harry, was one thing, but this deep-seated was something he thought he understood about Voldemort. 

Riddle looked genuinely taken aback by Harry’s fury; his hands returned to his pockets, to keep a tight grip on the wand. “They’ll be back at the start of term.” He sounded almost affronted. “But it will be nearly empty over the summer. What it means for _you_, Potter, is that we’re going for a walk.”

***

It was very dark on top of the Astronomy Tower, without any light from the castle or the grounds. Even Hagrid’s hut looked abandoned. Still, Harry’s eyes flicked around and around and around the moonlit tower. They had landed here. They had left the broomsticks there. That’s where Draco had stood. That’s where Dumbledore had fallen. That’s where Dumbledore had … had ....

Riddle stared at him avidly, the whites of his eyes popping in the darkness. “It was here, then,” he breathed. “It was very difficult to pay attention, before you put me on, but I thought I heard….” He gave a small shudder of obvious pleasure. 

“He was never afraid of you,” Harry said quietly, firmly. This would get him a few rounds of the Cruciatus Curse, but he had to say it. _Dumbledore’s man, through and through._ “And you never stopped being afraid of him.”

The curse never came. Instead, Riddle slammed him against the parapet with a pulse of pure magical force, right where Dumbledore had slumped. Harry didn’t even see the wand move, wasn’t even sure the wand had moved. Riddle’s body followed close behind, pinning Harry in place. 

“Dumbledore is dead. There is nothing left for me to be afraid of.” 

Harry laughed, the sort of wild bark Sirius had given in the face of danger. “Nothing except death, right, Riddle?”

Riddle pulled on the locket, hard, yanking Harry into a kiss. 

Harry would have used a different word than _kiss_ there was one, because this was nothing like kissing Cho or Ginny. Riddle bit, hard for someone who kept putting the Cruciatus Curse on Harry for trying; Harry’s mouth flooded with the metallic tang of his own blood. And Riddle pressed in relentlessly, his tongue forcing itself into Harry’s mouth, his lips crushing against Harry’s bruised ones. Harry tried to yank back, but Riddle had one hand curled tight in Harry’s hair. 

When Riddle pulled away, his lips were as red as his eyes. 

“And not even that, anymore,” he murmured, fingers tight around the locket. 

The cords were back, pulling Harry’s arms tight up and above his head, bound to the parapet. _Where Dumbledore had –_ Riddle yanked at the uniform shirt under Harry’s robes and it came undone with a haze of magic. Riddle bit – this definitely was not a kiss – at nape of Harry’s neck. Harry tried to shake away, but Riddle’s hand dropped from the locket to the small of Harry’s back. Their hips were flush; Harry could feel Riddle hardening through their pants, and Harry struggling only ground them against each other, and Harry was stiffening too. 

Harry froze, disgusted. 

Riddle nipped up his neck, bit at his earlobe. The hand that wasn’t at Harry’s back pushed down Harry’s pants, then his own. “Continue, Potter.”

Gritting his teeth, Harry rolled his hips up into Riddle. Riddle’s hand kept their cocks pressed loosely together, so that every movement ground them against each other. Harry didn’t understand how Riddle’s mouth and dick were so blisteringly hot when the locket was so cold; he rocked harder into one of Riddle’s hands while the other skittered down the small of his back and lower, lower. 

Riddle’s finger pressed into Harry’s ass at the same moment that Riddle covered Harry’s mouth with his own, swallowing Harry’s shout with a kiss. Harry shifted from rocking into Riddle’s hands to attempting to wrench away again, but he was pinned too tight between Riddle and the parapet to get away, and Riddle moaned quietly as Harry’s struggling jerked them together roughly, erratically. 

Riddle’s finger moved in deeper, slick and hot, and Harry wrenched his mouth away from Riddle’s. He didn’t know what he was going to say that Riddle wouldn’t get off on rejecting, but he didn’t want this, and he didn’t want this _here_. 

“‘Not where he died’?” Riddle laughed, divining the source of Harry’s discomfort anyway. His voice was low and ragged but utterly victorious. Another finger went in; Harry growled with pain and frustration. “But that’s what makes it so _good._”

Riddle snapped down the ropes and flipped Harry over, holding onto the ropes around his arms and holding him out over the ledge so that he was looking down at –

– at the place where Dumbledore had fallen, broken –

Riddle’s cock slammed into Harry’s ass without warning, stretching and tearing; Harry shouted, and the noise disappeared as one of Riddle’s hands wrapped around his mouth. “Not that you don’t scream beautifully,” and Harry hated the way that Riddle’s breath against his ear sent shivers down his spine, “but I don’t want to be found just yet.” Riddle withdrew and thrust again, his hunger and sense of triumph flooding into Harry’s mind alongside the stabbing pain in his body and the vicious ache in his heart. Harry tried to focus on the pain; it was better than feeling glee, even Riddle’s reflected glee, here. But Riddle’s increasingly rough thrusts kept hitting against something deep and electric, and Riddle’s mouth kept nipping at the soft skin of Harry’s neck and back, and Harry’s dick kept grinding against smooth stone, and Harry came, hating Riddle in that moment as much as he hated Voldemort. 

Riddle fucked Harry through it, triumphant and relentless. Harry felt limp and boneless; he wasn’t sure he would have stayed upright without Riddle’s hand around his waist. He might have slumped backward – or forward, over the ledge, like Dumbledore –

No. That wasn’t an option. Dumbledore was dead, but Harry was going to kill Voldemort, as soon as he’d killed Riddle. 

Riddle’s teeth broke the skin of Harry’s shoulder when he finally came; Harry hissed in pain and from the sharp, awful memory. _Forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe._ When Riddle finally pulled away, Harry slumped back to the floor of the Astronomy Tower, boneless as he’d expected, ready for this particular encounter to just be over –

But Riddle had Harry turned to face him, was in Harry’s lap, was showering Harry with hungry kisses, ignoring Harry’s indistinct noises of protest. “Perfect,” he hissed, and his mouth darted from the blood still on Harry’s lips to the blood on Harry’s shoulder. “Mine.” 

Harry wasn’t sure if Riddle was talking about the scene of Dumbledore’s murder or having Harry fucked out below him. It didn’t matter. He was going to kill Riddle either way. 

And if Riddle wanted to get off triumphing over Dumbledore, if Riddle’s drive for domination and degradation was still keenly focused on Dumbledore, Harry knew how to end this. 

It was just a matter of getting Riddle to think that fucking in the headmaster’s office was his own idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flesh, blood, and boner.


	4. iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUKERS!" It was...........Dumbledore!

He hadn’t been wrong about Riddle’s feelings for Hogwarts, in the end. What he hadn’t anticipated was how much obvious pleasure Riddle would take in fucking him all around Hogwarts. 

Riddle fucked Harry splayed on a teacher’s desk, over a divan in the Slytherin common room, in a dungeon – _several_ times in Slughorn’s office, and Harry couldn’t decipher whether it was meant to be rude to the professor, because Riddle enjoyed the posh furniture, or for the variety of potions he could shove down Harry’s throat. Whatever disillusionment spells Riddle had up his sleeve were strong enough that none of the ghosts or portraits paid them much notice. 

The days ticked by. 

_Next time,_ Harry thought, as every thrust pushed him into the cool, sweat-slicked glass of the Slytherin hourglass. Gryffindor rubies hovered just at the edge of his vision. _Next time, the sword. Next time, I’m going to kill them._

***

“Next time” was in the library. 

Kneeling in Riddle’s lap with a cock up his ass wasn’t the most painful or even the most degrading thing he’d done in the last few weeks, but the anticipation, not to mention the ache in his thighs, was wearing on him. Riddle occasionally ran a hand down Harry’s exposed spine, or pinched painfully at his legs, but otherwise he was flipping languidly through _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_. Something about that made Harry uncomfortable on its own, for reasons that he couldn’t quite pin down but that he associated somehow with Hermione. Maybe it was how mortified she’d be by the idea of fucking in the library’s big old club chairs. Harry slumped a little against Riddle’s chest, letting his chin rest against Riddle’s shoulder and feeling absurdly again like Nagini draped over Voldemort. 

Harry felt the shift before Riddle spoke, in the way that Riddle’s fingers tightened on Harry’s hips and the slight motion of his jaw clenching and the locket becoming somehow heavier around Harry’s neck. _Finally_, Harry thought. _Just get it over with._

But Riddle didn’t move. “When,” there was something wrong with his voice. It was perfectly level, but there was nothing smug or mockingly superior in it. Riddle was, what, surprised? Angry? Afraid? “were you going to tell me that you escaped Lord Voldemort as an infant?

Oh –

_And you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._

– hell. 

Harry slammed against the library table, wincing at his head thumped particularly hard against the wood. Riddle’s hand was at his throat a moment later, the grip magically strengthened and pressing down on his windpipe as Riddle leaned over him, looking at Harry as though he hadn’t spent the better part of a month fucking him from every possible angle. “_How_, Potter?”

“Why?” Dizziness was feeding his usual store of recklessness, and he was pleased to hear that his voice was confident even if it was breathless. “Worried that I might do it again?”

“_Crucio,_” Riddle snarled. 

Even the curse had an unusual vindictive flavor this time, Harry realized between his own screams. Riddle had enjoyed torturing him in an anonymous sort of way, the way he might tear the wings off any passing insect. But Riddle had a personal reason to hurt him now. 

When Harry’s vision cleared, Riddle’s face was right over his – Riddle’s _eyes_ were staring directly into his. No – Harry couldn’t let him use Legilimency. Riddle might have found that Harry had defeated him once, but Harry still had the secret of the prophecy to keep. He needed action, distraction. 

Harry propped himself on one elbow, his face pressed close to Riddle’s so that he was breathing into Riddle’s ear. “Afraid?” he asked, a little contempt and righteous, warming fury in his voice. He locked his bare legs around Riddle’s hips, so that Riddle couldn’t pull back and get a better look at Harry’s eyes without signaling retreat and fear. “Maybe you should be – you’re not going to get it anyway. My mother died to save me.” Had it really only been four years since the diary fixated on the same question? They were all the same, in the end. “Her _love_ stopped you, and you’ve never been able to understand that.” 

Riddle hissed, his nails digging painfully into the flesh of Harry’s thighs, but he didn’t try to get another look in Harry’s eyes. The locket’s ticking heartbeat was loud enough to be audible to both of them. “What a shame that there’s no one to die for you now,” he sneered. “You’ll die and I’ll live, the way it should have been sixteen years ago.” But there was a lingering note of unease there, a gap in Riddle’s normally impenetrable shroud of haughty disdain. 

He could use that. _Next time_ was this time. 

“How long will that last?” Harry was going to suffer for this in the very near future, but after so many days of merely surviving through Riddle’s whims it was invigorating to be on the offensive, in a way, to be moving toward a goal. Riddle was oddly still in the face of Harry’s surge of confidence, transfixed. “Dumbledore – ” it was the magic word, the locket’s heart skipped a beat “ – found out about your horcuxes, _Dumbledore_ made sure they’ll be destroyed – ”

Riddle’s hand seized the locket protectively, and for several beats of its clockwork pulse the two of stayed there, breathing down each other’s necks. Harry felt Riddle’s shoulders relax slightly under his arm, was sure that Riddle was reconstructing that smug facade, but the locket between them continued to pound.

Riddle released the locket and, with a deliberately unhurried motion, pushed Harry back against the desk. In a vacuum, it highlighted the disparity between them – Riddle, tall and composed and well-dressed, Harry naked and disheveled and spread out before him and apparently completely vulnerable, completely powerless. Riddle’s face was carefully re-composed into a thin smile. “Dumbledore is dead.” And then, just to be cruel, his smile stretching with real malicious pleasure this now –. “Do we need to make another visit to the Astronomy Tower?” 

“He’s not as gone as you might think.” Harry grinned, ludicrously, with the sense of deja vu. “Weren’t you listening, out on the grounds? Dumbledore will only be gone from Hogwarts when none here are loyal to him.” 

“Dumbledore – ” 

“Is dead,” Harry said, powering through the hurt that accompanied the words. Riddle’s eyes were wide, watching him not with the concentration of Legilimency but as though spellbound. “Yeah, I heard you. But you know the headmaster’s office, Riddle? The one with all the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses? He’s _still there_.” The bait was set, the die cast, the river crossed. “Even if you kill me, he’ll just send someone else after you horcruxes, and after Voldemort. Dumbledore found out, and Dumbledore _won_.”

Riddle stared at him in a sort of fascinated horror, but Harry knew he had taken the bait. Now it was only a matter of waiting for and living through the tantrum that would follow. 

“I’m going to break you before the end, Harry Potter,” Riddle smiled, and it would have sent ice down Harry’s veins if they weren’t blazing with fury. He leaned down again to cup a hand around Harry’s cheek, then ran it down Harry’s throat, his chest, stopping just short of his groin. “And I’m going to make sure that Dumbledore sees what happens to fools he sends after me.” 

Harry didn’t need to pretend to force a gulp. He didn’t plan on dying today, but even if the next step were successful, the experience would be excruciating. “You’re not going to kill me now. Not until the month is up.” 

“No,” Riddle agreed, the self-satisfied veneer plausibly back in place. “But I’m going to make sure that he sees the moment when you die. And in the meantime – ” he gave Harry’s cock a swift, sharp tug; Harry arched up into him without meaning to, and Riddle’s teeth snapped briefly and painfully at Harry’s neck “ – I’m going to make you beg for my cock in front of Albus _fucking_ Dumbledore.”

It was, in fact, going to be excruciating. 

Riddle pulled Harry to his feet by his hair, half-dragging him through the corridors to the headmaster’s office. As always, the portraits paid them no mind, despite Harry’s nudity. When they reached the entrance, Harry thought momentarily that the gargoyle might throw a wrench into his whole gambit, but Riddle simply blasted the poor statute aside with a flick of Harry’s wand and continued up the spiraling stairs. 

The room was much the same as it had been the night Dumbledore had died, filled with portraits and spindly silver instruments and – Harry didn’t dare to look at it head on, but caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye – the sword of Gryffindor in its glass case. 

The portraits stirred in their frames, first in bleary confusion as Riddle entered, and then in alarm as they caught sight of Harry. Several of them made sharp attempts to leave their portraits, presumably to sound some form of alarm, but Riddle waved Harry’s wand almost lazily and they froze, silent and watchful. 

“Professor Dumbledore,” called Riddle with forced warmth, dragging Harry to stand in front of him. Dumbledore’s portrait, frozen like a Muggle painting halfway toward an exclamation, looked more taken aback than Harry had ever seen him in life. _But it will be over soon. I’m the one who’s going to run his horcrux through with the Sword of Gryffindor._ “Professor Dippet. Headmasters, headmistresses.” One of Riddle’s hands cupped under Harry’s chin to force him to look up at the portraits, the other slung low over Harry’s hips, over weeks of bites and bruises. Riddle rested his chin on Harry’s shoulder languidly, possessively. He was the same arrogant showman Voldemort had been in the graveyard at Little Hangleton, gloating over Harry to an audience of Death Eaters; it took a great effort of will on Harry’s part not to give the game away by stamping on his foot. “I think you must all know Harry Potter. Dumbledore thought that Potter here could kill me.” Harry had to bite his tongue to stop from responding. _I’m still the one who’s going to kill you._ “Unfortunately for him, _I_ caught _him_ just after Dumbledore died.” Harry knew he was smiling even without looking at him, that self-satisfied smirk he wore whenever he was about to cause some particularly clever bit of suffering. “I’ve been draining him for the better part of a month. He only has a week left … and he hasn’t even been resisting.”

Harry opened his mouth to point out what a blatant lie that was, but Riddle’s hand tugged hard against his dick, and he stumbled back against Riddle with a gasp of surprise and arousal. “I have _not_,” he snarled, catching himself a moment later, but Riddle spun him around and smothered his protest with a kiss. 

For the first time, it struck Harry that Riddle might actually succeed in making him beg for cock. Riddle kiss was less overly bloodthirsty than it had been on the tower, though he still kept nipping against Harry’s lower lip more often than Harry thought was strictly necessary, and his grip but slow was firm as he pumped Harry’s cock. Harry thought that his already-exhausted legs might give way underneath him, and he leaned an arm against Riddle’s shoulders without thinking anything of it until Riddle pulled away from the kiss with a smirk. 

_Damn._ Riddle actually working to get Harry off was new, and an unexpected complication. He wasn’t sure whether Riddle was doing it more to mortify Harry or to mortify Dumbledore, but either way, the heat in his groin and the blistering sense of triumph searing through his link to Riddle were making it terribly difficult to focus. He needed them to veer slightly to the side, toward the sword, but Riddle was half-carrying, half-pulling him across the office, behind the headmaster’s desk, until Riddle was enthroned in the headmaster’s chair and Harry was spread out before him on the old desk.

Riddle’s smile showed too many teeth to be handsome, an openly predatory smile that he’d never shown to Armando Dippet or Hepzibah Smith. “I should have done this earlier,” he crooned, settling back into the ornate chair, triumphant. One hand slid up Harry’s thigh, clearly enjoying the shiver it elicited, and the other slid down the arm of the chair, just as clearly enjoying the age and intricacy and the sense of power. 

The sword was so close and yet so far away; Harry would have to overcome Riddle’s instinctive desire to revel in sitting in, almost literally, the heart of Hogwarts. It would be easier if he could just get them standing again…. Slowly, as non-threateningly as he could, he sat upright, bent to place his arms on Riddle’s shoulders, and leaned down to kiss him.

Harry was counting on Riddle’s own tremendous self-importance to gloss over this move from resistance to acquiesce. Riddle _wanted_ to believe that he could charm anyone, and Harry’s behavior fit into that worldview, so there shouldn’t be any real reason for him to question why Harry was submitting now. Riddle leaned up, wrapping one hand around the back of Harry’s neck to take control of the kiss and the other around Harry’s waist to draw Harry into his lap. But Harry stayed standing, not overtly struggling but staying very firmly _in place_. He was fairly certain that Riddle’s constant drive for dominance wouldn’t permit him to sit still with Harry literally above him – and there, Riddle stood, and Harry covered up a roll of his eyes by closing them and rising up on his toes to kiss back.

The best way to control their movement within the room was to take understated charge of their movements. Harry lifted his hands to Riddle’s collar, undoing shirtbuttons with increasingly fumbling fingers as he pressed his hips against Riddle’s. Riddle’s breath was hot against Harry’s neck; Harry rested his head against Riddle’s chest to avoid looking at him, and intentionally stumbled slightly to the side.... 

When Harry reached for the fly of Riddle’s trousers, Riddle caught his hands. “Ask nicely, Potter.”

Harry hissed in quiet annoyance against Riddle’s collarbone, and ground slightly against him to give his voice a touch of real physical want when he finally forced it out. “_Please._”

“Please what?” 

If Harry hadn’t wanted to kill him before, he would now. He took the opportunity to tug slightly on Riddle’s shirt, tugging them a few more precious inches toward the sword. “I want…” The grip on his hands didn’t slacken. Bastard, he really was going to make Harry beg in front of Dumbledore. If that was what it took, he’d do it. He could explain to the headmasters after Riddle was dead. “I want you to fuck me already.” His very real arousal and frustration made his voice rough and throaty and more desperate than Harry would like to hear in other circumstances, but here, it was the kind of debauchery that he needed to reel Riddle in. Riddle chuckled, satisfied, and released Harry’s hands.

Riddle was nearly hard enough to ride as Harry tugged his cock free. Using the uncomfortable amount of skill he’d acquired in the last few weeks, Harry ground against Riddle even as he wrapped a hand loosely around both of them, flesh to flesh. 

It might have been the touch or the room or a belief that Harry really was submitting at last, but the part of Harry’s mind that was tuned to Riddle’s flared hotter than Harry could remember. Riddle shoved Harry up against the nearest wall – _yes, the sword was only a few feet away_ – and wrapped a hand under Harry’s thigh, drawing the leg upward to expose Harry’s asshole. Harry swayed with deliberate ungainliness, drawing them just a few inches to the side, as Riddle slammed into him.

Harry really did have to wrap around Riddle for support this time, an arm around Riddle’s shoulders and a leg around Riddle’s waist, all pulling Riddle deeper inside him. He was slick and loose from having Riddle in him for the better part of _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_, but Riddle hitting that deep on the first thrust short-circuited his brain. Riddle’s hands cupped Harry’s ass, and for a moment Harry was horrified that Riddle would haul him back to the desk, but Riddle only swept Harry off the ground and slammed him harder against the wall. Harry wrapped his other leg around Riddle now, too, burying his mouth into Riddle’s shoulders to muffle his own pants as Riddle’s cock hit deep inside again, and again, and every thrust ground Harry’s dick against Riddle’s firm stomach, and Riddle’s mouth kept nipping down the curve of Harry’s neck, blazing and possessive and leaving fresh marks with every bite. 

It would be soon, he would be able tell that from Riddle’s increasingly erratic breathing even if he didn’t have the link. Harry’s free hand scrabbled backward for purchase against the shelf, fingers knocking over silver and old fabric before settling on glass. 

Riddle’s fingers knotted in Harry’s hair, pulling him out of the muffling cushion of Riddle’s shoulder. “No hiding,” he growled, with a particularly sharp push. Harry moaned, loud enough to carry through the entire room, and Riddle laughed. It wasn’t as high or as cold as Harry’s nightmares, but the humorless cruelty was the same. “Let Dumbledore know what you want more than horcruxes.”

He wouldn’t have been able to say it if his fingers weren’t splayed across the case. “I want you,” he groaned. _Dead._ After the first one, it came out in a babble. “I want you, I want you, I want – ” _Dead, dead, dead._

Riddle came with a snarl, and there was nothing in the part of Harry’s mind that was Riddle’s but triumph and arousal. 

In two simultaneous motions, Harry slammed a fist into the case holding the sword with one hand and tore the locket from his throat with the other. Riddle stirred as Harry’s arms swung the sword and pulled at the locket, his lips moved with the beginning of a spell, but Riddle’s moment of post-coital distraction was enough. Harry slammed the locket against the stone wall of the headmaster’s office, and the sword into the locket. 

Riddle screamed, higher pitched and even more furious than the diary, as the locket shattered. Harry thought that he was screaming too; the part of his mind that resonated with Riddle’s shifted too sharply from bliss to agony. But then the warm weight of Riddle’s body and the icy pull of the horcrux’s chain in his hand were gone in the same moment.

Harry, his wand, the sword, and the broken locket clattered to the floor. 

The air of the still room felt oddly chill, without the warmth of Riddle’s body. 

For a moment, the office was silent save for Harry’s ragged breathing. Then whatever enchantment Riddle had placed on the headmasters and headmistresses broke, and the portraits were full of shouts and cries of alarm. When Harry managed to look up, he had eyes for only one of them, as always, the calm center in the middle of a storm. 

“Dillys, the hospital wing. The rest of you, find anyone in the castle who might be able to help.” Dumbledore’s portrait was calm but firm as it dispatched the remaining headmasters and headmistresses. “And Harry – Harry, help is on the way.”

It would have been beautiful to hear _anyone’s_ voice other than Riddle’s, but hearing Dumbledore’s in particular was like a square of chocolate after a dementor encounter, a reassurance that everything _would_ be alright. Harry nodded, uncomfortably aware that he was bruised and bitten and dripping from Riddle’s last orgasm, but too tired to do anything about it even with the promise or threat of someone coming to help. “Please tell me,” he said, exhausted, “that the other horcruxes won’t be that bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost didn’t write this fic because of the giant plothole that Harry could have summoned Kreacher to save his ass. Bugged the hell out of me the whole way through writing it. Pretend that I depicted Harry considering summoning Kreacher but determining that Riddle would kill Kreacher and that was bad. 
> 
> Apologies to anyone who really wanted archive warning bingo, I originally had plans for some more violence that got cut. Three outta four ain’t bad. 
> 
> It probably says a lot about me that this is my second fic where a POV character murders someone mid-orgasm. If you also read that one, (1) I’m not sorry and (2) write me Mad-Eye Inaho fic. 
> 
> I have some ideas for things to write in the time lapse at the start of chapter four, but wanted to finish off the main plot of the story. Stay tuned? 
> 
> Thanks for listening.


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